The Snake and the Badger
by by4
Summary: People have been fighting against Voldemort since before he coined the name. Some of them succeeded.


Sparks sprayed out of John's cauldron, at exactly the moment he had leant over to examine the contents. He jerked backwards, swearing loudly, and staggered back, before tripping over his bookbag. He hit the floor loudly, and swore again. He sat up, hoping, rather pointlessly, that no one had noticed. The entire class was laughing at him, and at his cauldron, which now looked like a particularly impressive miniature fireworks display. His face was stinging from where the first sparks had hit him, and the back of his head was throbbing. David was laughing along with the rest of the class, and Virgil was shaking his head in exasperation. Professor Slughorn was wearing a look of what John sincerely hoped was amused resignation as he trotted over to John's caludron, and waved his wand over it once. The sparks died down instantly, and Slughorn peered inside.

"John, John, what have you done this time?" He asked, his eyes sweeping over the ingredients spread haphazardly around the table.

"Cherry-splinters, sir." John said, standing up and brushing himself off. "I thought it might make it more effective to use on bowtruckles."

Slughorn smiled genially, and shook his head. "Bowtruckles…why would you be planning on giving a hiccupping draught to bowtruckles, exactly? No, never mind, I'm not sure I want to know. Well, you were on the right track at least." He said, approvingly. "Wood from a wand tree would make them more likely to drink it, but you should have known quite how badly cherry-wood reacts when heated with jumping beans. Still," he said, frowning now, "what's left of your potion could hardly be expected to induce hiccups in something, unless it lacked internal organs to damage. I'll have ten points from Hufflepuff, and I'll remind you again," he said, ignoring the outraged looks that half the class were flashing him, and the smirks the other half weren't bothering to hide, and vanishing John's potion with a stern wand flick "of the importance of following my instructions. Discipline, that's what holds you back boy. Not like Cuffe, of course!" he said, losing all interest in John's lack of potion, and moving over to rhapsodise at great length of the texture, viscosity and general perfection of the Ravenclaw's potion. John started to throw his things into his bag with a sour expression, well aware that he his Potion's lesson had been another spectacular failure.

"Bad luck mate", David said, once they had left the classroom. He grinned at him, obviously enjoying himself. "Still, for what it's worth, watching you fly away from that thing was hilarious. I didn't think it was possible to move that fast without a broom."  
Scowling, John swung an arm round at David, who skipped lightly out of the way without breaking his stride.

"Even he admitted it was a good idea, though". Virgil said conciliatorily, which only cause John's mood to worsen.

"Yeah…so good he took ten points of me. Honestly." John said, shouldering his bookbag with more force than was strictly necessary. "If Cuffe had done it, he'd have got thirty points for flawed ingenuity, or some such rubbish."

"Yeah, we know." Said David, who was at least sounding sympathetic now. "And if Riddle'd done it, he'd have put him down for an Order of Merlin."

"You should know by now." Virgil said, a faintly accusatory note creeping into his voice. "He's told you before, not to mess around during lessons, you know?"

"Yeah, I know" John snapped. "But I thought if I could just, you know, impress him for once-"

"You're that desperate to spend your evenings kissing his behind?" David snorted. "Don't get me wrong, there's plenty there to go around, but-"

"Of course not, dickhead!" John replied, angrier. "But it wouldn't hurt being able to get my hands on some of his private ingredients when I wanted some, would it?"

"Alright, alright." David said, grinning again. "Simmer down. You'll get it right next time, I'm sure."

"So, you still haven't given up on your external potion making." Virgil sighed. He didn't say as much, but the tone of his voice strongly suggested what he thought about that plan. John was about to make another angry retort, hoping that this time it would (somehow) be brilliantly witty enough to shut both of them up for a little while, when a voice rang out from behind him.

"Did you cut yourself or something, Milton? Only blood like yours would be enough to ruin a potion so completely." There was a chorus of laughter from behind the three of them, and David and Virgil each grabbed an arm to stop John from wheeling around furiously.

"Shove it, Lestrange." David called back, hauling John forward with a considerable effort. "Don't you have a cousin to be shagging?"

"If that's a proposition, Rosier, I'll have to decline." The dark-haired boy in the centre of the group called, completely unpeturbed. "Nevermind…you'll still got a mudblood boyfriend or two to comfort you." This comment was met with another roar of laughter from the group behind them. David took enough time out from shoving John around the corner to stick two fingers up at the assembled group, before darting around the corner himself as a spell flew past him.

"Inbred bastard!" John hissed, shaking off Virgil's arm. "You should have let me deal with him, that would've made me feel better…"

"You'd have felt much worse after the gang he's with had finished with you." Virgil said, checking back over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

"It would've been worth it, if could've got one of them properly enough." John muttered, touching his wand reflexively.

"Forget about it for the time being." David said, turning right and heading up a flight of stairs. "Wait 'till we've got a club meeting…then you can sort him."

"It's good to have something to look forward to." John muttered. He was still angry about his failure to make the potion. He had snuck into the forbidden forest late one night to collect the splinters, and had almost been gored by a dozen angry bowtruckles for his troubles. True, he probably couldn't have used it for anything, but if it had worked, well…it would have meant something.

Virgil walked off down a fourth-floor corridor, meeting up with a crowd of Gryffindor fifth-years as he went. John and David continued climbing stairs, discussing the parentage of one Rodolphus Lestrange (they both agreed it was mixed, colourful, and novel in it's interpretation of interspecies boundries) until they reached the ladder reaching up into the Divination classroom.

"Mind you," David muttered as they sank into the seats surrounding a translucent crystal ball, "he's not quite so verbose around Riddle, is he? You could put a silencing charm on him and never notice a bit of difference."

"Riddle talking alone is bad enough." John said, darkly. He opened his bag, and rooted through it. "Is it your turn to read, or is it mine?"

"It's your turn." David said, settling back in his chair and closing his eyes. "It's your turn until further notice."

"Or until Drummundas notices you've not done a bit of work in six weeks." John said, finding the book he needed.

"That long?" David opened his eyes, specifically for the purpose of closing them resignedly. "Bugger. Right." He reached into his bag, and pulled out the correct book on the first try, annoying John immensely. "What do you see in the ball?"

John squinted, and tilted his head to various angles for about thirty seconds, before saying. "Nothing."  
"One of those days is it?" David said, peering at the ball himself. "Right. Start pretending."

"A flower, being trampled on by a vampire wielding a cricket bat."

"Tosser." David muttered, flipping through the book in a doomed attempt to find out exactly what a cricket bat symbolised.

"Good luck with that." John said, laying back in his own chair and closing his eyes. He wasn't going to be doing anything for the next ten minutes or so; he might as well make use of the time.


End file.
